


a moment

by fonapola



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-23
Updated: 2017-11-23
Packaged: 2019-02-06 00:13:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12805413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fonapola/pseuds/fonapola
Summary: Porthos, Constance, and a moment of peace during a mission.





	a moment

**Author's Note:**

  * For [isloremipsumafterall](https://archiveofourown.org/users/isloremipsumafterall/gifts).



> For the ultimate Portance shipper! Thanks for inspiring me with these two.

The sun was just starting to set, when Porthos felt a hand against his. The small hand curled around his larger palm, displaying a strength he always knew it held. “Constance?” he asked, frowning down at the woman. His own fingers instinctively curled around hers, offering the comfort he assumed she was seeking.   
  
It had been a long few days. The Queen’s life was in danger. The French countryside was doing little to keep their small group warm and comfortable. And d’Artagnan was…missing. _Just_ missing. Nothing more, because anything else would be unacceptable.   
  
If Porthos ever got his hands on Milady…  
  
But, for the moment, he had a hand on a completely different woman. Despite all their hardships, Constance had yet to crumble under the stress. She still stood tall next to their Queen, keeping her safe and as comfortable as their current situation would allow. It was a relief to have her along, instead of some of the other ladies in waiting. Women of the court were lovely creatures, but not all of them were made for any type of adventure outside the city limits.  
  
“Is everything okay?” he pressed, taking a small step towards her when she didn’t immediately answer. Maybe their luck had finally run out. Maybe Constance had finally reached her breaking point. After all, d’Artagnan—  
  
“I am fine, Porthos,” Constance said with a wry twist of her mouth. “Stop worrying.” She tugged at their joined hands, nodding to the river behind her. “Come with me. And be quiet.”  
  
“But,” he started, only to stop at the look she levelled him with. Obediently, he followed her careful footsteps. It was still light enough to see most of the path before them, but some of the undergrowth was starting to hide with the sunset.   
  
It wasn’t until they were a few paces from camp that he thought of the group they were leaving behind. The Queen was alone with Aramis and Athos. She was safe, at least from an outside threat. However, if Constance felt comfortable with leaving her Majesty alone, Porthos would be the last to argue.   
  
“I’m fine, Porthos,” Constance said suddenly, her voice just above a whisper. “I’m not going to fall to hysteria.”  
  
“You can’t know that,” Porthos argued. “Not even seasoned soldiers are immune to reaching their limits, physical or otherwise.”  
  
“True, but I am no soldier.” She was teasing, attempting to joke with him. Porthos wanted to join her, but he had to make himself clear.   
  
“Constance—”  
  
“Porthos, please.” She stopped and turned to him. “I understand. I am not being _stoic_ as Aramis likes to insist. I’ve simply not reached my limit yet.” The hand around his tightened briefly. “However, I promise, yours will be the first set of shoulders I seek to lean on when I do.”  
  
Porthos gave a surprised chuckle. “That sounds reasonable.”  
  
“Now, will you please just follow me?”  
  
He nodded and gestured for her to continue forward. They reached the riverbank quickly, and Constance pulled them upstream a ways before stopping suddenly. She moved him to stand alongside her and then pointed to the opposite bank. “Look,” she whispered.   
  
It took his eyes a moment to adjust to the dying light and recognize shapes amongst the shadows of the bank. Once they did, he had to bite back a pleased laugh. The brown fur had them almost completely camouflaged with the dirt and shrubbery of the riverbank, but once he’d spotted them, they stood out clearly. Four otters darted through the undergrowth, seemingly oblivious to their human audience. The largest moved carefully down to the river, sliding gracefully below the surface. The remaining three—pups Porthos guessed—stayed at the river’s edge, chasing and tackling and climbing over one another in a game anyone who had grown up with siblings would recognize.   
  
It was nature carrying on, despite the chaos humanity may be facing around it. It was a calming moment after too much tension.  
  
It was nothing that Porthos had been expecting when Constance had grabbed his hand.  
  
“I spotted them when I went to fetch water,” Constance explained, still speaking in a hushed tone.  
  
“Amusing buggers, that’s for sure.”  
  
Constance shifted and it was then that Porthos realized their hands were still clasped. “I’m sure you see this sort of thing all the time, on your missions outside of the city. I just thought...”  
  
“Constance,” he said, deciding it was his turn to interrupt her. “Thank you.”  
  
“It’s just a bunch of otters,” she insisted, as if suddenly deciding the view before them was unworthy of their short trek.  
  
“It’s a gift,” he argued. “It’s nature at its finest. It’s an experience rarely had when on missions.” At her sceptical frown, he continued. “On most missions, stops to make camp come at the last possible moment: just before sundown and with little thought to the surrounding area except to decide the type of shelter the land will provide. There is no time to stop and appreciate nature for itself. This,” he gestured to the scene before them, “is a _gift_.”  
  
Constance nodded then smiled. “I’d hoped you’d enjoy it. I grew up along a river. There was a family of otters that lived a short walk from my home. I used to spend summers watching them interact.”  
  
“Sounds entertaining.”  
  
“Usually.”  
  
Silence fell over them as they both turned back to the otter pups. By this point, the adult had returned. She carried a fish in her mouth and her pups scrambled closer in anticipation. Porthos watched them dig into the fish for another moment, before tugging at Constance’s hand. “That reminds me. It’s my turn to cook dinner.”  
  
“Then we better hurry before her Majesty volunteers to do it for you.”  
  
This time, it was Porthos leading the way as they returned to camp. He moved carefully, silently guiding Constance to the easiest path. He stopped just before their camp and turned to her one last time. The sun was well on its way to disappearing beneath the horizon, casting shadows across her face. He had already thanked her, and a repetition of his gratitude would just earn him an eye roll. Instead, he pressed a chaste kiss to her cheek, offering no words before or after.   
  
Constance smiled then nodded, silent as well.   
  
Together, they entered camp.   
  
\---  
  
 _“The European otter—also called the Eurasian otter—has the widest distribution of all other otter species...”_  
  
He ignored the zookeeper as she repeated the same facts she had been declaring since his first visit. His focus was solely on the creatures beyond the glass. After generations of living in a zoo, the otters had grown accustom to the gazes of zoo goers. They carried on as they always did, only occasionally pressing their faces or paws to the glass.   
  
As if summoned, one of the otters moved closer to the glass, seemingly watching him where he stood just on the other side. With a small smile, he pressed his palm to the glass, in a silent greeting. The otter gave him another moment of its attention then turned away, uncaring of the focus it was receiving.   
  
When a hand curled around his a minute later, he was expecting it.   
  
She always had a way of finding him, especially when he tended to run to the same places—the same sources of peace.  
  
“It’s your turn to cook,” she reminded him, but didn’t make any movement towards the exit.  
  
He nodded, not removing his hand from the glass. “Just a bit longer.”  
  
“Okay.” She tangled her fingers with his, tightening the hold she had on him. “We’ll order take away. You’ll buy.”  
  
Without looking away from the scene before him, Porthos brought her hand up and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. “Deal.”   
  
Constance rested against his shoulder and allowed him a few more moments. Not even seasoned soldiers were immune to reaching their limits—but some had been around long enough to know when to simply stop and appreciate the little things.  
  
 _“It’s a gift.”_


End file.
